The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2601 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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The hum of the air-conditioning meant that our approach was unheard, if anyone was actually in the plant room. The door was a metal one and opened outwards. Sammi was despatched to find the building’s caretaker to get us a key to open the room. We all withdrew while keeping the plant room under observation.

“We don’t actually know what or who is in there, do we?” I asked no one in particular.

“No, nor if they’re armed,” Allie’s job was basically about evaluating risk and reducing it to acceptable proportions.

“Simon is here, I can almost taste him he’s so close.”

“And you think he’s still alive?” asked my bodyguard.

“I know he’s alive.”

“Shouldn’t we get the police to check this?”

“If you don’t want to see your son alive again.”

“I thought they were experts in this sort of thing.”

“Viscount Stanebury, the police have to work to protocols.”

“Isn’t there a reason for that?”

“Yes, but in these cases time is of the essence.”

“I appreciate that, but if there’s some sort of shootout, Simon could get hit by stray bullets.”

“If I fire my gun each shot will make its mark.”

I wished I’d had her confidence, even with a Kalashnikov, I couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a shovel. It’s a very useful weapon with great reliability according to the records I’d seen of it. It was also cheap to manufacture which explained why every lunatic in Afghanistan and Pakistan had at least one of them.

I watched Alison check her gun, an automatic of some sort; at least I assumed it was seeing as it didn’t have any rotating chambers like a revolver. She placed it back in the holster at the back of her jacket. I was glad I’d dressed for comfort, in jeans and trainers—it would make running away more efficient.

The caretaker appeared and handed Henry a bunch of keys, he didn’t know which one opened the A/C plant room, he never went in there as a firm of service engineers did all the maintenance as far as he knew. We thanked him and he left.

Allie and I went back to the door and I read out the number of the door lock while she looked through the keys for on the enormous ring the caretaker had provided. I asked Sammi to find out if the service engineers were here yesterday. She dashed off to check on it. I felt happier that she was out of the line of fire if anything happened.

Allie found the key to open the door—we hoped. If there was a lock on the inside and the key was in it, that presented certain complications. Unfortunately, none of us knew the answer to it except in an empirical manner. Standing away from the door, so working at arm’s length, Allie began to try to slip the key into the lock. My hands were shaking just watching her; hers stayed steady as a rock. The key slotted in and she gently unlocked it. Given the noise from the A/C unit it was unlikely anyone would have heard it.

While waiting for the keys we agreed a plan. I would open the door and pull it towards me leaving the doorway clear. The door would theoretically protect me and give Allie an opportunity for a free shot at anyone inside.

We performed the plan; so despite the coolness of the wind on the rooftop my hans were sweating and I wiped them in my jeans before grabbing the handle and on a count of three yanked the door wide open. Allie dropped and covered the room, nothing happened.

We inspected it there was nothing, but the items of clothing tended to show it had recently been occupied and not by service engineers. We came out with a sense of relief and for me disappointment. I was so sure he was there. In fact I felt sure he was still there, but the room was empty.

I switched on the light and while the machinery made so much noise it was difficult to think. I tried calling his name, but I couldn’t hear myself, so how would anyone else. I was sure he was there somewhere so I did the only thing I could do to verify it, switched off the machine. For a moment it felt like I’d gone deaf. I called Simon’s name as loudly as I could—nothing happened. I called again and again. Nothing. Tears of disappointment and frustration combined with anxiety for him began to trickle down my face. I wiped them away with rather grubby fingers. I probably looked a total mess but didn’t care.

I was about to leave, Allie came into the room when I heard a faint bump. She was about to switch the machine back on when I called her to stop. I ran around the place banging on the walls, eventually I got a response. Simon had effectively been walled up. They were going to let him die up there. I felt so angry if I saw the woman hired to kill me, if she missed with her first shot, I’d guarantee she wouldn’t get a second before I did her serious damage of a permanent nature.

Basically, he’d been trussed up and left sitting in a small alcove that used to accommodate an earlier and larger plant. They’d blindfolded him and placed ear defenders on him then walled him up with a piece of plywood which they’d painted after screwing it in place.

He’d worked out what they were planning to do, reveal his whereabouts to Henry, only if he gave them a large share base to enable them to perform all sorts of nefarious activities and escape with the profits while High Street and the backing bank was left in the lurch.

The bank had apparently offered a reward, a ransom fit for a king but the unscrupulous villains declined saying we couldn’t get the money quickly enough to save him.

One of the advantages of marrying into a bank was seeing the look of bewilderment on Simon’s face when I produced not only the money but deduced where he was. With the blindfold and being trussed up, he hadn’t heard me and was trying to estimate how long he’d been held while bumping his elbows on the floor of his prison. Somehow I’d heard it.